


Myosotis

by elareine



Series: JayTim Week 2021 [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Greece, Angst with a Happy Ending, Animal Sacrifice, Arranged Marriage, Break Up, Cassie/Kon discussed, Established Relationship, Getting Back Together, M/M, Mental Health Issues, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, and all the dubious consent that comes from that, not between main characters, the violence is mostly Jason happening to other people
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-20
Packaged: 2021-03-25 04:47:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30083688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elareine/pseuds/elareine
Summary: "Run away with me."Tim wanted to give Jason everything.Everything. But he didn't know if he could give him that.
Relationships: Tim Drake/Jason Todd
Series: JayTim Week 2021 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2212035
Comments: 13
Kudos: 86
Collections: JayTim Week 2021





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for day two of JayTim week for the prompt “request,” and for day five and “Myths & Legends.” So that’s when chapter two will follow, never fear :) 
> 
> Many many thanks to margoril for the beta. 
> 
> I have a tumblr, where's there's [a fic giveaway happening right now](https://elareine.tumblr.com/post/645675773069590528/i-havent-really-done-anything-to-celebrate) in relation to this week, in case you're interested.

The city was as noisy as ever. 

Every time Jason thought he had finally become used to it again, there was a single noise—a shattering of tiles, a particularly grating voice, the soft whine of a mule, the cry of a child—that hit him just wrong, and he was once again the young man he had been when he’d returned, wrong-footed and overwhelmed in so many ways but determined not to show it. 

Add to that the drizzle of a morning in mid-winter and the fact that today was Tim’s wedding day, and Jason was ready to chuck the whole day into the sea. Maybe Poseidon could get some joy out of them because Jason sure couldn’t. 

He couldn’t escape those facts, either. Everywhere he went, people were talking about the upcoming wedding. Jason couldn’t even fault them for that; the nuptials made for an exciting piece of gossip, and the war had ended less than a year ago. Grief needed all the distraction it could get, and a city stricken by it clung to every bit of hope the Gods offered. 

All Jason had wanted was to buy a new cloak for his travels, and yet, every bit of conversation he overhead reminded him of why he needed to leave.

“—he bought the lamb from me,” a small boy said, and Jason stopped abruptly. 

An older man—presumably the boy’s father—backhanded him. “Stop lying. No-one pays that much for an animal this close to death.” 

The boy sniffed but held his ground. “I’m not lying—it was a young noble, very—“ 

“Very interested in doing a good deed on his wedding day,” Jason finished the sentence, putting a hand on the kid’s shoulder. How like Tim, to be generous and not think about the consequences. 

Predictably, the man’s face took on a rather unattractive shade of red. “Are you implying that my lambs are only good for charity? Why, I will—“

“That’s my family you are speaking of. I would advise you not to continue.” 

Jason never knew what people saw in his eyes in these moments and didn’t care. All that mattered was that the man stepped back, a faint tremble on his hands. He would not be hitting anyone today or for a while. 

“Good.” Jason looked back down at the boy, making an effort to soften his gaze. “Where did my brother go?” 

The child looked as if he wasn’t sure how he felt about all of these developments. Nevertheless, he pointed a tiny finger at the nearest stone entrance. “In there.” 

“Thank you.” 

Jason stepped away, eyes fixed on the entrance. 

He shouldn’t. Jason knew that. However, that kind of knowledge had never particularly fazed him, and the fact that Tim was in _Hera’s_ temple… Jason had never dealt well with that kind of mockery. 

He smiled at the priest selling trinkets by the entrance and walked inside. 

_Tim’s heart was pounding. It was difficult to act calmly when his hands were shaking. Somehow, though, no-one looked twice at him as he made his way up the hill—just a dutiful son on his way to pay tribute to his mother._

_Instead of entering the shrine, though, Tim took a sharp left turn and followed the path until it stopped, and beyond. This was_ their _place, the little grove behind the temple buildings. The one place in the city that kept them hidden; kept them safe._

_And there Jason was. He was dressed much more simply than Tim, and he was so handsome that Tim’s pulse still quickened in his veins whenever he saw him._

_Well. Maybe handsome wasn’t the right word; the Gods that had claimed Jason had left their mark, and no child of Ares ever walked through life without scars. Still, he had a presence, something that mere physical power and a strategic mind couldn’t explain. Even when Tim had hated Jason—had feared him—he had always been aware of him._

_Now, though, these times were long past. Now, he could run to Jason and knew that he would be caught._

_Jason pulled him into an embrace with a chuckle. “Hello, Tim.”_

_Tim buried his face in Jason’s neck and inhaled deeply before replying. “Hello.”_

_“Did you have a good time with your friends?”_

_“Hmm.” He clung to Jason. It was too much for a normal embrace, and Tim knew that. He couldn’t stop, though, couldn’t let go of Jason’s tunic, couldn’t allow him to move away, not when today might be the last time he would ever feel those arms around him._

As soon as he entered the temple, Jason knew he wasn’t welcome. The very walls seemed to scream at him; the ground was unfriendly, the air stale and too thin. The feeling was so strong that Jason half-expected Hera herself to come down from Olympus to eject him from her sanctuary. 

He ignored it with the ease of long practice. This hall was made of stone; nothing more, nothing less. So was the statue of Hera at its end. 

There she was, seated on her throne, queenly and smug, her husband standing beside her. How he hated her. 

Slowly, deliberately, Jason wiggled his eyebrows at her. Then he turned and went toward the altar. As he’d expected, a small group was gathered in front of the fire. Most of them were strangers, Jason supposed, and he didn’t step close enough to see. 

Tim had his back to him. 

Jason didn’t know if the younger man knew he was there. It irked him, but not enough to step closer. Stone might not hurt him, but fire could, and would, and had. 

It was oddly quiet in here. Jason had spotted the usual line of women outside, using their own entrance to beg the goddess for children and the survival of their marriages. In this most auspicious month for marriages, though, there should have been a long line of grooms and hopefuls, too. Perhaps Bruce had ordered the temple cleared. 

One of the priests approached him. He must’ve recognized Jason, for his voice was low and respectful when he asked: “Do you wish to make a supplication?” 

“No,” he said, aware that his voice carried a little, “I have no one to sacrifice for.” 

Tim flinched, and Jason tried to feel satisfaction in that. 

The priest shook his head. “If you are not—“ 

Jason threw him a glare, and the old man backed away on instinct. Good. Jason had been playing at being good for way too long, and look where it got him. He stood and watched as the animal sacrifices were carried in. 

Tim held the lamb down with one arm and grasped the knife the priest offered him. His hands were steady as he drew the sharp blade across the lamb’s throat, his eyes calm as he watched the blood drip down on the marble. Beside him, Cassie added her own offering, a fawn that died just as quickly and noiselessly. 

For once, the remains were left there at the altar. No priest, no acolyte would touch it. The matter was too important. Tim and Cassie’s ability to _produce children_ was too important. 

Jason’s mouth curled up in distaste, and he left the temple without a sound. Hera could have that one. 

_Finally, Jason gently pushed at his shoulder, and Tim reluctantly drew back. His hands remained on Jason’s waist._

_“You alright, little bird?”_

_He gave Jason a shaky smile. No. No, he wasn’t alright. Jason never expected him to be. He liked Tim just for who he was, prickly, sad, manipulative—everything._

_Gods, Tim loved him so much._

_They spoke at the same time: “Can we talk?” — “I have something to ask.”_

_Despite himself, Tim chuckled. It might have been the relief of being granted another stay of execution. “You, first.”_

_Jason’s eyes burned a bright teal when they looked at Tim. His request was direct and to the point._

_“Run away with me.”_

_For a moment, Tim allowed himself to imagine it. Jason and him, traveling through the lands, across the sea and into the desert, and back out again. Just the two of them, not weighed down by anything, living and loving for however long they may be granted that peace._

_His fingers twitched with how near that future seemed in that one bright second._

_And then._

_(Tim wanted to give Jason everything._ Everything _. But he didn’t know if he could give him this.)_

_“I just completed the engysis,” he heard himself say._

_For a terrible, terrible moment, Jason simply froze._

_Then he slowly, deliberately stepped away from Tim. The distance was maybe three handspans; the gap Tim felt open between them was much broader and deeper._

“Jason,” Bruce greeted him and gestured to a seat further down the daïs, which was an insult in and of itself. As the second-oldest of Bruce’s adopted sons, Jason had a right to sit next to Dick, close to the bride’s male relatives (however few there were) and Tim’s other brothers. 

He had promised himself he wouldn’t start a fight, but teeth-gritting could only get a man so far. Jason sat down next to Dick and silently dared anyone to challenge him on it. 

(He’d welcome some blood-letting on this day. Maybe that would be enough to quell the volcano in his soul and the well in his heart.) 

No one did. Pity. Dick even greeted him cheerfully. The feast began, and Jason had nothing to do but chew on some bones and watch the other attendees. 

Everyone was doing their best to pretend that this was a joyous occasion—which it was, Jason reminded himself. There was a gentle chatter, the polite noise of two families becoming acquainted with each other. 

The bride sat veiled between her mother and aunt. For her sake, Jason hoped they’d given her plenty to eat before she left her seclusion for the temple. Women had to wait for the menfolk to be done before they could start feasting, and the menfolk were taking their time. Jason barely knew Cassie, but he didn’t think she would take kindly to being kept waiting. 

Their very own Cassandra was sitting next to the bride, as was Stephanie. They had taken to her, judging from their grins. Jason recognized no one else from the lower tables. Barbara must’ve decided to stay away, then. She had always been the smartest of the bunch. 

Next to Jason, Dick was telling a story about Tim’s childhood. Jason couldn’t bring himself to listen. It did, however, provide him with an excuse to finally, _finally_ look at the groom. 

Tim looked miserable. Oh, he was smiling, sure, and he was saying all the right things and making all the right gestures—going so far as to glance at his bride every few minutes—but Jason… Jason knew him. Despite their history, despite the secrecy, despite the _lies,_ there was no-one here who knew Tim like Jason did. 

Every line in Tim’s body spoke of grief. 

Jason was a selfish man. He was honest enough to admit that he wouldn’t have liked to see Tim happy—that such a sight would have enraged him, would have had him storm off, never to return. It would’ve made it easy. So easy. To know that Tim was happy, and that all he’d had to do was to betray Jason. 

(Jason was used to that, after all.) 

Now, he wasn’t even granted that. What a joke. 

_“Who.”_

_It wasn’t much of a question; even Tim could hear that—after all, what did matter who he was engaged to when it wasn’t, couldn’t be, Jason?_

_“Cassie. Cassandra Sandsmark.” Tim still couldn’t believe it. Her uncle had approached Bruce, and then it had all happened so quickly. “She—“_

_“I don’t care.” Jason’s voice was quiet, dangerously so. “You will marry her.”_

_Tim couldn’t help but bristle at that. “It’s not like I want to.”_

_“Then_ don’t. _”_

_Tim wanted—he didn’t—_

_He didn’t have a choice, not in this. All he knew how to say was: “I love_ you _.”_

_“I’m not going to be your mistress,” Jason hissed, and Tim reared back as if he had slapped him._

_He hadn’t meant—that wasn’t—_

_“I know,” was what he said, for of course he did._

_The idea of Jason as a side-piece was laughable. The man’s pride would never allow it._ Tim _wouldn’t allow it._

_Jason raised his fists, and for a moment, Tim was sure the older man would hit him. He wasn’t sure whether he would allow it; it might be deserved, but Tim couldn’t afford bruises, not right now._

_He still carried bruises from their last night together. By the time he would share a bed with his new wife for the first time, they would be long gone, and Tim tried not to mourn them._

The procession to Tim’s house moved slowly. The couple walked in the front, letting the people gawk at them. 

A son of Athena and a daughter of Zeus—what a striking pair they made. Cassie might have nothing of the swan about her (and for that, Jason was more glad than he cared to put into words), and Tim might be hardened in a way that belied his station in life, but together, they radiated power. 

Two people, born to rule. Who was Jason to put themselves between them?

All around him, people were talking. 

“The bride isn’t young anymore.”

“Well, the groom is all the younger for that.” 

Jason rolled his eyes. In his opinion, the Persians had it right with their idea of a married couple being roughly the same age, or at least none of them as close to childhood anymore as this city demanded the bride to be. Jason personally found nothing appealing in someone who was terrified of him and crying for her mother. No, his type was more… fiery. Willing to push back against him, argue with him, make him a better man—and he should stop that direction of thought right now. 

“She has been behaving herself very prettily,” an older man remarked approvingly. “We all heard the stories of the wild princess, but everything is very proper.” 

“Maybe he has tamed her.” 

Someone snorted. “Her uncle, more likely. Reminded her of her duties, as he should’ve done a long time ago.” 

“Their children will rule two cities,” one woman pointed out, and… 

Jason had been trying not to think about that. It was hard not to—after all, that was what all those rites and sacrifices and hopes and wishes were about. This marriage, like most marriages, was intended for one reason only: to produce children. 

Would Tim be as sweet for Cassandra as he’d been for Jason? Would Cassandra know how to handle him, his willfulness, his need to be held and taken and made to _feel_? Or would she expect him to take the lead? From what he knew of her, Jason didn’t think so, but the very idea of her hands on Tim’s skin made him feel nauseous. 

Nothing about it was right. 

With a start, Jason realized that he didn’t even know if Tim was drawn to women in that way at all. It had always made such perfect sense for the two of them to be together that they never talked about others. 

What was he doing here? It was time to leave. These questions weren’t for him to answer anymore. It was time to pack his things and go. 

Just as Jason had made his mind up, a heavy hand descended on his shoulder. 

“Another mourner, I see.” 

_Slowly, Jason lowered his fists again. They were still close enough that Tim could see the tremble in them._

_(Tim’s hands, by contrast, were utterly steady now.)_

_“Then,” Jason said, “we have nothing more to talk about.”_

_He turned and walked away, out of the grove, out of Tim’s life, with his back straight and his back measured._

_Tim waited until Jason was out of sight to collapse._

_There were no tears. He’d expected to be sobbing; instead, there was a hollow feeling taking over his body, as if a hole had been carved into his very soul._

_He already knew that he would be tempted to run to Jason as soon as he saw him again. Tempted to shout “yes,” to let Jason save him from this life, to hold him, to—to ask Jason to keep loving him. To stay._

_It was too late. Tim had made his decision, and Jason wouldn’t forgive him for it, rightfully so. After the insult Tim had dealt him today, he wouldn’t be surprised if Jason never spoke to him again, and even if…_

_At that moment, Tim vowed to himself: He wouldn’t ask. No matter how he felt, no matter how his soul and heart were screaming at his head to_ run _, he was done hurting Jason Todd. Tim would let the older man move on._

_He owed him that much._

“Kon-el.” 

The other man was almost tall enough to see eye-to-eye with Jason. His smile was sympathetic, and he squeezed Jason’s shoulder once before letting his arm drop. 

“Hard to watch, isn’t it? I don’t think this is what any of us wished for. I know _I_ didn’t.” 

They did not, in truth, know each other well. Kon was one of Tim’s closest friends; Jason was his lover. 

Had been. _Had been_ his lover. 

Anyway: while Jason was not surprised that Kon knew about them (was even a little pleased with evidently being considered a secret of necessity, not shame), he had no idea what the other man was talking about. 

“…what?” 

Kon squirmed. “Cassie and I… we were…” 

Ah. Now that Jason thought about it, Tim had confided in him that he thought that two of his closest friends were falling in love. 

“So why didn’t you marry her then? You’re pretty eligible.” Kon was on his way to the same renown one of his father (fathered and blessed by the sun god), after all. He wouldn’t have been considered a bad match by any uncle. 

The younger man shrugged. “I offered—of course I did. But… plans were being made, and Gotham needs the aid more than we do.” 

“A purely political decision, then.” 

“Yes.” Kon didn’t look convinced himself. 

Behind them, a cheer went up. The procession must have reached Tim’s house, though neither of them turned to look. 

“Maybe, nothing much will change.” Kon sounded like he was talking to himself more than to Jason. “It will make it easier to visit both of them, I guess. And it’s not like Tim will be a possessive husband. It could be worse.” 

Jason felt his eyes widen. “You’ll _stay_?” 

Kon looked taken aback. “I’ll return to Metropolis, duh, but they are my friends. Why would I abandon them?” He frowned. “So you… won’t? Tim will be—“ 

Jason didn’t want to hear about what Tim would feel. 

“I’m no lapdog,” he ground out, uncaring of the hurt that flittered across Kon’s face. They might commiserate; they weren’t friends. “I won’t be waiting around for my master to call for me when he feels like it.” 

“That’s not—“ 

However, Jason already turned away. 

His few possessions were still at the inn he’d been staying at; right now, he couldn’t care less. They could be replaced. 

It was time to leave. The road had been calling to him for too long. Jason had been—not happy, but _content_ to ignore it for the sweet siren song of Tim’s love, but those times had passed. 

Freedom, then, if not happiness. He would just have to live with that. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your lovely comments! I haven't had the spoons to reply, but know that I love them, and that I hope you enjoy chapter two.

“The red fleet is here.” 

Jason looked up from where he was sharpening his sword. “Where?” 

“In the—“ Roy stopped to free his face from some unwanted branches. The trees here were always too low for him. Usually, the sight would amuse Jason; now, he waited impatiently for Roy to continue: “In the bay. They’re gathering behind the Singing Rocks.” 

Artemis threw her head back, her hair swishing as if to underlie her rage. “They are waiting for us to meet them.” 

_We have nothing to meet them with._ It went unspoken. 

Jason had watched the enemies’ fleet built; had seen them recruit the living and the dead, and still no-one had listened. None of the great cities had decided it was worth coming to the aid of a camp of outlaws and refugees. It wouldn’t help them—this army wouldn’t be content with some scraps. They were here to conquer, Jason knew, but no-one was listening to him. They just whispered about his Hera-given madness, about Ares’ son clamoring for war again, about the One-Touched-By-Death bringing death to their shores. 

Fools. If his own friends—his _family_ —weren’t in the way of these hordes, Jason would happily let them all burn. 

That wasn’t an option. 

Jason stood up and raised his voice. “We let them come.” 

Silence fell in the encampment. They were a loose-knit group, and while there was no formal leader, no enclosed section of camp dedicated to the generals, Jason knew that everyone was looking at his small group to lead them. 

And this—it was a risky strategy. Even right now, their group’s vulnerable ones—the old and the very young, the infirm, the disabled—were fleeing North, hoping one of the cities there would take them in. Jason’s main goal had to be to keep the approaching forces as far away as possible. Ideally, by beating them on the spot, but realistically… 

Realistically, they were here to buy time. And the best way to do that was the strategy Jason was proposing. 

“The shores are too close to the ships. They’ll deploy all at once, and even if we manage to sink some of the boats they use to get their troops ashore, they will open fire as soon as we are within range. If we draw them into the valley, they won’t be able to employ all of their forces at once. We’ll pick them off one by one.” For a time, at least. 

For a moment, no-one spoke. 

Finally, Roy nodded. “We have a lot of archers, but their arrows aren’t going to reach the ships.” 

“I enjoy the idea of meeting them where they cannot run,” Artemis added. 

Kori piped up, too, likely just to lend her support publicly. “A good strategy, Jason.” 

Slowly, other soldiers—those standing further away but not even pretending not to listen—nodded, too. The respect in their eyes made him a little uncomfortable. He’d done little to earn it; those last years had been hard, and still they hadn’t a home to return to. Jason might be a wanderer by nature, but he was painfully aware that most of them were not. 

“Then that is what we’ll do,” he said and was quite proud of how firm his voice sounded. “Prepare yourself. We will get into formation an hour before the sun rises.” 

Jason sat down and tried to ignore the pride in Roy’s smile. All around him, he could hear whispers. A soldier’s prayer: ‘Keep me safe. Let me be honorable. Grant us victory today.’ 

Jason didn’t pray. It wouldn’t help. 

_Stupid. Stupid._ Stupid _._

 _I don’t know if I mean myself or him, but it’s all that’s echoing in my head right now._ Stupid _. We both did the smart thing, the logical thing, except for one: Jason came to my wedding. I never expected that; it must’ve been for revenge. Sometimes, he likes pain when we lie together, but surely no-one can want to feel like **this**. _

_I went after him, later. I don’t know why;_ of course _he left._

_And yet I walked through the city last night, trying to find him. I visited every single one of our favorite spots—our grove, the little house his friend sometimes left over to us, that spot by the water where he first took my hand—and every time, there was nothing there but memories._

_Finally, I went to his lodgings._

_Jason left his belongings behind, so I had hope for a brief minute; then I talked to the sentries. He makes quite a striking figure—a recognizable one—and they saw him leave._

_“Don’t think you have to worry about him coming back,” one of the guards laughed, “he told us to have a nice life.”_

_It’s my first morning as a married man, and my life is grey._

Morning dawned bright and red. 

The attack had come with first light. Jason’s forces had been well prepared; their ambush had taken out many enemy combatants. Not enough, though. It took so very little time until they were in the middle of an all-out battle and desperately trying to hold the line. 

They weren’t losing. Not yet. But they would be, soon. 

Not all of the soldiers attacking them were alive. Jason, who had been dead once, had no idea how such a thing could be—a conspiracy by Hades? Or just meant to look like one, using sorcery? However, there was no arguing with the testimony of his own eyes: These soldiers moved fast but dream-like, and their eyes were lit up by a green glow. 

Jason saw one of them tear apart two of his fighters. Just… pluck them up and ignore their sword in their shoulder, taking two of them with it in death as if it didn’t care. 

Maybe it was ironic that that was the moment Jason thought of Tim again. Only fleetingly, just for a second—this was a battlefield and really not the place to moon over your long-lost love. 

Certain death didn’t put anything into perspective for Jason; he still loved Tim, still missed him, still would never return to Gotham even if given a chance. He just wanted to think of Tim for a second, that was all. 

The battle went on.

Jason could see Roy taking out enemy after enemy with his bow. Soon, he would have to resort to finding arrows on the field, taking them from the bodies of dead soldiers. Somewhere behind him, Artemis roared; her battle-ax must’ve taken out as many enemies as the rest of them together. Kori was calling down divine fire at their flanks, Jason knew. She was keeping them from being surrounded. He didn’t want to think what would happen if someone managed to breach her line of defense. 

Bizarro was next to Jason, and he was still standing strong, unfelled by arrow or spear or sword. Jason took hope from that, even as he had to resort to punching out the next soldier that charged at him, taking his weapon from him as he fell. 

It was amazing what standing next to a cyclops could do for your confidence. 

So they fought. And fought, and fought, desperately, hopeless, until: 

Something shifted. Jason didn’t know what it was yet, but he could feel it. There was a roar on the horizon, a heaviness in the air, like some decision being made, like destiny settling into place. 

Gods, he hoped the pantheon hadn’t just decided to come to the aid of the red sails. 

Before he could inquire if Bizarro saw anything, a very short young man came to a halt in front of Jason. 

Who stared rather dumbly. Had. Had the man just… run all the way across the battlefield? What was happening? 

“Son of Hermes,” the new arrival informed him cheerfully. “You must be Jason! You look exactly how Tim described you, though I personally can’t see it. Anyway! He says to tell you our ships are behind the enemy’s line and will attack from the back. He’s leading a force directly onto the shore, so you should feel some relief soon and be able to press them back into the water.” 

“…alright.” Jason blinked. Took out the enemy soldier about to stab him by running him through. Then he said: “Actually, that’s great. Thank you. Once you got them in hand, you can send word to the hills,” he pointed, “and have our vanguard come up to join you.” 

“Will do!” And with that, the stranger ran off. 

_There is an emptiness to the days. Cassie reminded me that it is the anniversary of our wedding today, and I had to look up at the sky to confirm that a year has indeed passed._

_It’s no wonder people are starting to ask about children._

_I don’t want them. Not like this. Not when I know that a part of me would resent them for keeping me bound to this place. It’s stupid because I’ll never leave—I’ve accepted that now—but there it is. I will not be like my birth-parents. I won’t have a child that’s not wanted._

_Cassie says she doesn’t wish for children either. I’m not sure that’s entirely true; if it’s children she doesn’t want or the situation we are in. Either way, it is her choice._

_It makes it easier, though. We go to bed every night, side by side, and we don’t touch. I know she is still seeing Kon—have given her my ‘permission’ to do so—and it makes me glad that only one of us has to live with his betrayal on his shoulders._

Jason shook himself, and, as soon as he was able to give himself some breathing room, he called out: “Outlaws! Reinforcements have arrived at the beach! Our allies stand with us!” 

A cheer went up around him, at first small, disbelieving, then louder, joyful, relieved. 

It wasn’t just the manpower, though that was certainly welcome. It was the knowledge that they hadn’t been abandoned; that this peninsula wouldn’t be easy pickings, one city after another—no, they were standing together, now. 

It was impossible to hear or see anything from the beaches, what with the noise of battle around him, but already Jason could feel the tide of battle turning. The press of enemy bodies wasn’t as tight anymore; their determination wasn’t as grim, more… desperate. And beneath all of that, he could _feel_ it. The Gods had decided to join their battlefield, and today, they were on Jason’s side. 

It took hours, but finally, the enemy forces were drawing back. Now, Jason could see the fear in _their_ eyes, dead or alive. 

And then he looked down, and under his feet, there was sand. 

“Drive them into the water!” he heard Artemis yell. Behind them, Roy called: “Their ships are burning!” 

Jason laughed and laughed and laughed until he saw Tim. 

The younger man was right in the middle of the battle but separate from the rest of his troops. _Probably ran ahead,_ Jason had time to think before he was charging, almost blindly, because Tim—Tim had never been the best fighter out of all of them. Well-trained, yes. Clever, absolutely; brilliant, even. 

This was an all-out of melee. Tim had already won them the war by where he’d placed his troops; by the Gods, he had already done enough just by leading troops here in the first place. Now, there was nothing to do but to fight and survive, and Jason could see that Tim was flagging. His movements were too slow, just quick enough to parry blows, not fast enough to return them.

Right then, right there, Jason prayed to his father for the first time: to give Tim strength. And then he promised himself: _It won’t matter. Not while I’m here_. 

He gave a cry as he jumped into the fray, slaying two enemies where they stood. There was no time to read Tim’s expression beyond astonishment because Jason had to turn around immediately, taking on another one of the corpse-soldiers. They scuffled for a moment before Jason got hold of his sword—finally, one of forged of decent metals, not the softened children’s version that got dented as soon as it connected to a skull or two—and managed to lodge it deep in the dead-man’s stomach. 

Even as he pulled it out, three more soldiers are approached.

Jason had lost his shield in the scuffle some time ago—reckless of him, he knew; maybe he was more his father’s son than he wanted to be. His shield-arm was bleeding, though, as good as useless for anything but short maneuvers fuelled by adrenaline and gritted teeth, so it wouldn’t have been much use either way. 

Jason bared his teeth at the men, and they shrank back. 

Behind him, Tim yelled: “Hah!” He sounded as if he was getting his breath back, and Jason heard the distinct gurgle of a man choking on his own blood. 

He grinned even as he charged forward, for once seeing no need to check behind him before he moved. After all, Jason knew who was guarding his back.

_Kon told me that what I’m feeling is grief. Maybe he is right. Only, I remember this feeling from_ before _; how it came back to haunt me, again and again, sapping my strength, sucking the will to get up on the morning from me. Then and now, it felt like there’s no tomorrow._

_It’s fine. I know that there will be and that I must be there to meet it. I only wish there was something… anything… that could make me feel excited again._

_I don’t think seeing Jason again would magically fix me. Nothing short of an intervention of the Gods would, and even there, I am skeptical. But Gods, would something to look forward to really be too much to ask?_

A soldier fell beneath Jason’s sword, and there was no other to follow him. It takes a moment to sink in—there is no-one else to fight. Tim and Jason were standing right at the front, greeting every soldier the enemy sent into the fray, and—

And they’d won. They were still standing, and when Jason looked at the sea, he saw three red sails vanishing over the horizon. That was all that was left of the once-proud red fleet. 

Three ships. 

When Jason turned around, Tim was already there. His spear was dripping with blood, his face and hands smeared in it. His armor, though, was unbreached; his shield unshattered, and for that, Jason was more glad than he could say. It allowed him to keep taking the other in, to take in the new width of Tim’s shoulders, the length of his hair, the lines around his eyes. 

He looked older. Wiser, maybe. Sadder, definitely. 

Jason _couldn’t help himself_. He just—he couldn’t believe Tim was really there, alive, blood-smeared, and for _Jason._ Jason had to walk forward, had to reach out, had to know that this was real, not some fever dream—

“Jason!”—“Tim!” 

Tim flinched, and Jason felt like he’d been torn from a dream. 

Roy and Artemis were the first to reach them, both of them clapping Jason on the back and ignoring his wincing when they rustled his injuries. Tim’s wife, of course, was right behind them. Jason wished he was surprised. 

“Are you alright?” she asked. “I saw you were surrounded earlier, but those creatures kept me busy on the rocks.” Ah. Jason had thought he’d seen some flashes of red up there earlier. That explained why the rain of arrows coming from that direction had ceased so abruptly. 

“I’m fine,” Tim reassured her. “I had some back-up.” 

Jason didn’t know what to do when his ex-lover’s wife turned to him. To his surprise, Cassie merely grinned at him: “Well-fought.” 

It was disarming enough that Jason was able to return it with an honest: “Well-fought, my lady. If you ever want to teach me how to crack skulls like that, I will be honored.” 

“Honored is not the term I would use,” Artemis murmured behind him, and Jason glared playfully at her. She ignored him, of course. 

Cassie laughed. “Hello, sister.” 

“Jason,” Roy interrupted the reunion in a low voice, “we should talk to the men.” 

Jason sobered up immediately at the reminder. Yes, they had won, but today had been full of losses, too. The waves and the valley were harboring too many of their comrades tonight. 

He nodded at his friend. “Yes. From the hill, maybe? That should carry our voices well.” 

To his surprise, his friend lowered his front legs and grinned at Jason. “Or, we could just do… this.” 

And thus, it was riding on a centaur’s back that Jason was able to call out to his people: “Friends! Comrades and everyone who stood with us today! The evil has been defeated. Long will it be until any of the sorcerers dare to darken our shores again!” 

In the ensuing ruckus, he lost sight of Tim. 

_I remember the first time I met Jason. That did not hurt me, considering he tried to kill me. I don’t think I ever wrote that story down; it was before I started keeping a record, as I had no space to call my own and was far too afraid to leave my thoughts out in the open. So here it is._

_Jason left the city shortly before Bruce adopted me. We were never brothers, not in that sense; I got to know him as a tale, a warning, not a person. When he returned from the dead, he was half-mad, cursed by Hera for what she saw as an unforgivable trespass on his part._

_(He blames Bruce for putting him in the situation in the first place; Bruce says Jason made a choice to kill these people. I disagree with both of them, but my voice has never been that important to either of them in this matter.)_

_He returned, saw that he had been replaced, and decided that the solution was to kill me._

_Yes, stellar thinking, I know. I cannot quite believe that he turned out to be one of the smartest men I know, either._

_Anyway. He almost killed me, almost killed_ Bruce _, and then he left again. The next time we saw each other, we were on the same side, and that meeting went_ much _better than the first. By which I mean he had his hand up my tunic about three days later, and I was enthusiastically welcoming it._

_He wasn’t my first, but he quickly became my only._

Roy carried Jason around for hours until they had seen every part of the field, had gathered every of the wounded, and counted the dead. They would receive honorable burials over the following days, but they deserved to be named and remembered now. 

Finally, though, even his friend had to flag under Jason’s weight and that of the day behind them. Not that he would put Jason down more than a few meters away from his tent, though. Jason awkwardly patted him on the flank in thanks when he got down. 

“Jason.” Roy’s voice was quiet. “Do you know what you’re doing?” 

Honestly: “When do I ever?” 

The centaur chuckled but put a hand on Jason’s shoulder. “Whatever you two decide, I hope you’ll be happy.” 

Suddenly, Jason had to blink very rapidly. “Yes. Thanks, Roy.” 

“Always.” Roy squeezed Jason’s arm once before letting go and turning in for the night. When Jason checked in on him later, he was standing under his favorite tree, sleeping standing up as was the way of the centaurs, Kori leaning against his leg. 

And still, Jason couldn’t sleep. It wasn’t the usual rush after a battle; fatigue was running through his veins, too. After much useless pacing, he sank down on his bedroll, staring at the fabric above. 

Here, in the quiet of the night, he could finally admit it: He wanted to see Tim. 

It had been long enough. If Jason had to swallow a little dignity, then—well, then he would. After all, he was a practical man, and he was done hurting them if Tim let him. 

Jason got up and grabbed his cloak. He’d seen Tim’s soldiers set up camp to the West earlier. It wouldn’t be hard to find Tim’s sleeping berth, he hoped; would be awkward if Cassie was there, but—

There was a rustle, and the flap to Jason’s tent opened. 

“Jason.” Tim’s voice was soft and a little startled. Jason’s reply came out in much the same way.

“Tim.” 

They were standing so close. Jason did not know what to do, now that Tim was here. Was finally here, after all these years. 

Tim reached out, and for one bright, glorious moment, Jason thought the younger man might cup his cheek (embrace him, maybe, or even just take his hand). Instead, he grazed the bandage around Jason’s arm. 

“I—you were covered in blood earlier,” Tim explained. “And you weren’t using your arm.” 

Of course. Jason silently cursed himself. He himself might have held on to the desire of old, rekindled now that the hurt has left; there was no reason to believe that Tim had, too. The younger man’s loyalty was depthless, and he was a good man. Him showing up to turn Jason’s battle around—him checking Jason for injuries—Tim would’ve done all of that for a friend. 

Jason should count himself lucky to still be counted among those. That didn’t ease the stabbing pain in his heart. 

“It will heal,” he told Tim. His voice was too loud for the quiet of his tent, but he did not dare lower it. “I’ve had worse.” 

“Ah.” Tim nodded, looking at the injury, not Jason’s face. “That’s good.” 

Tim did not remove his hand, though. His finger brushed over the soft skin below the bandage, over the inside of Jason’s wrist, and lingered, lingered, lingered. 

“I saw you die in my dreams.” 

_I’ve been dreaming recently. Vividly, stark; the kind of dreams that would mean a prophecy if they weren’t perfect replicas of the past._

_Jason’s hands. His eyes, watching me, never closing them even when we kissed. His laughter. His gentleness on a bad day. The way he called me his little bird._

_Those dreams? Those dreams are the ones that hurt. Was I really that easily thrown away? We always knew that there would be no marriage between us, no_ life _that wouldn’t mean abandoning my city, my family, to the wolves. I thought he knew that. Apparently, I was wrong._

_Sometimes, I’m angry. Bruce calls it Ares’ influence; I welcome it. It is something to feel, at least._

“What?” 

“I saw you die in my dreams,” Tim repeated. His fingertips, Jason noticed, were resting on the thin skin where a physician might easily feel a patient’s life rhythms. 

“Is that why you came?” Jason asked, mind whirling. 

“Yes. And because it was the right thing to do, but… yes.” Tim shook his head even as he swayed closer to Jason. “I—I know I hurt you. I’m also angry that you just—left like that, Jason, that wasn’t—and I dreaded seeing you again.” 

Jason didn’t flinch. He supposed Tim had a right to be angry at him, in a way, if what Jason was suspecting was true; just as Jason had had the right to act like he did and be angry at Tim for his choices, in turn. He suspected none of that mattered much anymore. 

Tim proved him right by continuing: “None of that mattered in the light of what I’ve seen in my dreams.” 

Gods, his voice was so small. He looked so—so tired. Open. Vulnerable in a way Jason was not used to, in a way Jason was utterly defenseless against. It left the older man with the urge—with the _need_ —to pull Tim close, to comfort him, to tell him it was gonna be alright. 

However, even when old hurts didn’t matter anymore, laying a foundation for the future did. 

Jason reached out and gently tilted up Tim’s face, wanting to see those blue eyes when he asked: “Is that the first time you saw me in your dreams?” 

“No.” Then, Tim hesitated. “It wasn’t _just_ you, both times.” 

Ah. Jason had pulled the correct string, then. “The other time being when I left.” 

“Yes.” Tim closed his eyes as if in remembered pain. Jason let him, and after a moment, Tim looked at him once more. “You… I suppose my mother knows whose fate I especially care about.” 

“You never mentioned she also gave you the gift of prophecy.” 

Tim shrugged. “I didn’t—well. It doesn’t happen often, and she doesn’t always speak true.” 

Mothers. Jason knew all about that, and his wasn’t even divine. 

Still: “You didn’t tell me. Any of it.” 

“I should have,” Tim whispered. “I’m sorry.” 

The shackles fell from Jason’s heart. 

“I have known death,” he told Tim. “It did not hurt as much as walking away from Gotham did.” 

A small, hurt sound left Tim’s lips. “Ask me again.” 

_Today, I went to the temple and made a sacrifice to my mother for Jason’s safety._

_There have been rumors, lately, of battles in Persia; of ships with bloody sails and their strange, unnatural cargo; of something that isn’t quite war but deadly, nonetheless. They talk of dead men walking and the sea parting without the tide. None of the stories end happily._

_Jason will, of course, be right in the middle of it. Even in the years between our first meeting and our first kiss, I always knew how to find him on a map just by listing to talk of trouble. He can usually handle himself just fine. This, however, I don’t like; not at all. For weeks, my dreams have been full of dark visions._

_So. A sacrifice. A lamb, and a jug of oil, and the gold my step-mother wore when she died. I hope it will be enough. I hope I made the right choice in Athena._

_It seems logical, though. I have never found out who wove the twines of destiny in such a way that Cassie and I ended up being the perfect solution to the threat of extermination. Oh, I know what answer Jason would give me; he always knew how to hold a grudge, and rightfully so. However, I’m not so sure. My mother could have decided that it was the wise thing to keep me away from a son of Ares. Jason’s father might even have agreed; he probably needs his son on the battlefield, unchained to a single city when there is so much havoc to wreck still._

_Hah, it could have been another plot of Cassie’s father in an effort to get laid._

_So no, I cannot be sure that it wasn’t my mother who whispered to Bruce, showed him the perfect solution to that menace. But if it wasn’t her, she loves me and might do it for that reason; if it was her, then she owes me that much._

_After all, I’m not asking for Jason to return. I’m not asking for his love. No, it’s far, far simpler than that._

_I want him to be safe. I_ need _him to be safe, even if he’s not with me._

_Please._

Jason didn’t ask, not right away. 

This time—this time, he’d do this right. 

His hands reached up, cupping Tim’s cheeks between them as if he was the most precious thing Jason had ever held. Jason gave himself a moment to just look at him—at Tim’s brow, starting to furrow at the attention; at his lips, dry and chapped and kissable; at his eyes, tired and fiercely, fiercely alive. 

“I missed you.” He didn’t mean to say it. Watching Tim tremble at the words, Jason found himself unable to regret them. 

“Tim.” Jason pressed a gentle kiss to his brow, spoke the following words against his skin. “You are my most precious, and I—if you say no, I will not abandon you. Never again.” 

Tim trembled and trembled and trembled. He hadn’t said a word. 

Jason inhaled—Tim’s smell had changed and yet hadn’t, was somehow more familiar to Jason than the feeling of his skin under Jason’s hands—and pulled back. “Runaway with me?” 

“Yes.” Tim’s answer was immediate and clear. “Yes, Jason, yes.” The smaller man surged forward, embracing Jason and burying his face in his neck. 

Jason wrapped his arms around him, pulling his long-lost love into his embrace, and held on and on. “Oh. Good.” 

Tim chuckled wetly. 

“Anywhere,” he said, eyes lit up with a cold fire, “as long as it’s with you.” Then he kissed Jason. 

It was heady. Jason hadn’t been starved of company over the years; it seemed Tim had. Every caress elicited a reaction, every brush of skin against skin a shiver, and when Jason finally slipped his hands under Tim’s shirt and touched the skin there, Tim moaned into his mouth. 

Jason didn’t want to stop touching him, and he knew that Tim didn’t want him to, either. 

The idea that they would never have to—that this would be _theirs_ to have and to hold—was headier than any wine of Bacchus’. 

_Those dreams. They’re coming back. The last time I had something even approaching it, it was about our city burning, falling because she stood alone._

_That won’t happen now. I’m sure of it._

_Instead, I see people dying on our shores while Gotham stands tall and safe and cowardly. Children taking up stones and throwing them at shambling masses of soldiers; women pleading and yelling and fighting and losing; men running with some terror I cannot quite understand yet._

_Jason’s blood in the sand._

_I don’t know where the enemy will come from. The dreams are hazy, a rough outline stinking of death. I can’t see clearly yet, but I will. And when I do—I’ll stop it._

_Everything else is too terrible to consider._

They left in the morning. 

Jason and Tim said their goodbyes separately. Jason assumed that Tim had talked to his wife or would talk to her. Presumably, Cassie would be free to marry again in a year. Jason hoped that she would be free to choose the one she wanted this time around. The younger man also mentioned a message he would send to Bruce. 

Saying goodbye to Artemis, Roy, Bizarro, and Kori was easy because it wasn’t a goodbye. Jason’s friends were wanderers, seekers just like him. He’d see them again, sooner or later, planned or not. 

Roy sulked a bit, though. “I haven’t even gotten the chance to talk to him.” 

“Why would you need to do that?” Jason gently nudged him over with a hand on his flank. Having a full-grown centaur in his tent really wasn’t conducive for quick packing. “You two have never been friends. Or, you know, been in the same room for longer than ten minutes.” 

“I need him to know what’ll happen if he ever pulls such horseshit again, though.” 

“Look who’s talking.” 

“I’m not going to miss you at all.” 

Threats and goodbyes aside, though, Jason wouldn’t let any of them see him off. If word got out, he and Tim could still be in danger, newly-earned renown in battle or not. 

When Jason returned, Tim was waiting for him, his horse at the ready. Something in Jason’s chest eased when he saw the other man (saw that he had kept his word), and Tim’s shoulders, too, relaxed. 

“Ready?” Jason asked. 

“Ready.” 

That day, they rode as far South as they could. Where they were headed… well. South, as far as possible, and then, a ship. Jason wanted to show Tim the desert he spent years learning to love, and then, they would go East, to places neither of them knew or were known. 

When the sun set, they found a spot between a patch of trees and settled down. Jason had slept under the stars plenty of times before but never like this. Tim crawled into his arms, and though they don’t undress, there is a weight to their every movement, their every touch. 

Tim had been starved, Jason realized, and maybe, so had he: starved of touch, starved of _love_. The weight of it all was crushing. They held on and tried not to drown. 

When Tim fell asleep just like that, in Jason’s arms, his hand in Jason’s, Jason made a silent vow: To protect him, to keep him close, to love him until the end of their days, Gods and the ways of men be damned. 

Those were all the marriage vows he needed. 


End file.
